


I've Been Around

by KiobiTheKid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humanstuck, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sex in later chapters, endgame gamtav, endgame karezi?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiobiTheKid/pseuds/KiobiTheKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d heard the magic word: fail. Subdued panic settled into his limbs and he suddenly needed a smoke. Fail. Couldn’t fail. There had to be options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yesterday's Feelings

Close my eyes and move to the back of my mind  
Where feelings mean nothing-  
Now all those feelings, those yesterday’s feelings,  
Will all be lost in time,  
But today I’ve wasted away  
For today is on my mind.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Through the looking glass” was an accurate description as any for how he felt.  


Not that he knew where the quote was from. Regardless, its truth resonated through his body like the way he shook when his dad finally came home or the way his music felt when he put it at full volume.  


The looking glass was rather small, tilted, and doused in purple. It made the wide, wide world on the other side shift in unfathomable ways and thoughts slurred together in his vision. He might have laughed at it. Maybe he cried. Bubbles eased in and out of view and he made a grab for one, but it danced out of his grasp.  


'All up and stealin’ the wicked motherfuckin’ miracles.'  


He shuddered and smiled. What was he thinking? Stealing miracles? Never! Miracles were everywhere, like in the grapevines crawling up the ceiling and the slow honks from underfoot. Under back. The boy laid down headily and let the world slip around him. It was a beauty he rarely experienced and yet craved it all the time, needed the sugar high and never the drop. Through the looking glass was true only so long as the tool was available; he hated being trapped inside the place he was looking down on, little insects crawling all over him in the real world. Arms itched and then they didn’t itch because he was laughing, and what was he worrying about the real world for? At the moment the looking glass was within his reach and things were ok, better than ok. Miracles. Things were carved in miracles, shot through the top of the floor and melting around the edges of his brain. Did a brain have edges? The looking glass didn’t care so the boy decided he didn’t either.  


Hours passed like minutes and seconds passed like years, lying on the floor of his dirty bedroom. It was a good trip that time and for that he was grateful. He would give thanks to the messiahs when he was more focused, less focused, everything going in and out of focus; sharp, soft, sharp, soft, until it all faded and he fell peacefully asleep like that, huddled near his mattress and crying purple into smeared make-up.  


Waking up was a bit of a slap in the face- light was coming from somewhere and it still shimmered in a way that would be gorgeous when it didn’t hurt his eyes to look at it. The room was less purple than before and instead of grapevines crawling up his walls he could make out clown drawings in his mellowed vision. Grinning, he sunk his head back into the floor. Afterglow was there, stroking his face, around his shoulders, down his burning arms, and into his intestines. He was hungry. Cracking an eye open again the boy propped himself up on his elbows, remembering that there was school that day. He opened the other eye and fumbled under his mattress for the extra package of Ho-Hos he kept concealed underneath, but it appeared to be missing. Oh well. Maybe he’d eat something later.  


Were his arms burning? Dried blood oozed around torn white skin, and there was a dirt-like substance under his nails, which he figured was his own flesh. Bugs he realized; there had been bugs yesterday, crawling on him, eating him away, gnawing his arms. It made him want to itch again just thinking about it, but this time there was nothing to itch away but scaly flesh. Couldn’t let Karkat see that when he came to pick him up. Right. School.  


The boy stumbled up from his position on the floor, hunkering out of his room and into the endless hallway. The world blurred before him in gentle waves, easing his vision as he made his way to the bathroom. Once there he stripped off the pajama bottoms and boxers he had on and stepped into the shower. Make-up came out less easily than the scabs on his arms, but he was content on rubbing it away himself. The raw sensation in his face was welcome when it was accompanied with a buzz. He thought maybe he cleaned the rest of himself off, smiling gently into the shower’s spray. When he stepped out there was a towel waiting near the bath mat for him. Had it always been there? It didn’t matter. He smiled at it and thanked the messiahs, and also Kurloz, who had likely put it there in the first place. Bless that guy.  


He dried his hair off and wrapped the fluffy towel around his waist, making his way back to the bedroom. Rustling came from downstairs, followed by a loud bang. Despite his hazy disposition, he hurriedly threw on pajama pants and long sleeves. The pounding he heard up the creaking stairwell was definitely Karkat’s; his brother’s movements whispered. Karkat’s yelled. By the time the stairs stopped screaming and his door slammed open, the boy was at his dusty mirror, reapplying his make-up. Heavy white base, greyed in eyes, an artistic dot or two never hurt. Grey smears settled around his mouth into a clown’s smile. The process was soothing, the make-up a necessity, not only to satisfy his religion, but to satisfy a base desire to cover the dark rings under his eyes and hide away from the world.  


“Hey Gamzee I know you’ve been rotting your brain, but your body’s still intact, right?” Karkat seethed, eyeing the mess in the room with distaste. “Move your slow ass up then, we need to get to the fucking school feeder before we get counted late for like the eighth goddamn time this year. I don’t like spending more time than I have to with your stupidity in Saturday detention, despite evidence otherwise. Jesus, cool it with the grease paint fucktard, we don’t have time for this bullshit.”  


Gamzee merely smiled at his friend’s anger; that was soothing too, in a way. Karkat made his thoughts stop clawing at him, made the good things seem real. He could listen to that kid scream himself hoarse. Instead, he complied, putting the make-up on his cluttered drawer and rummaging on the adjacent side for his back pack. He wondered briefly if he had done his homework, but shrugged it off and made his way out into the hall and downstairs to the foyer. Kurloz was there with his laptop balanced on the arm of a huge sofa, eyes glued to the screen. He waved them silently out of the house, Karkat pulling the door shut behind them in response. Clambering into the car - a piece of junk, really - Gamzee relaxed against the passenger seat. The ignition turned and the radio blared to life, the driver thrumming his fingers on the wheel to the beat. It wasn’t really the kind of music he preferred, but it suited Karkat. The garbled noises rolled around in his skull, pulling him into a sleep state that ended abruptly after the shorter boy pounded on his door. Parked. They were at school.  


“Wake up call, asshole. You need to get to your first class.”  


“Sure motherfuckin’ best friend. Wouldn’t want to leave a brother all up in the detention seat again,” Gamzee replied lazily. Karkat huffed and stormed across the parking lot and into the building, his “best friend” in tow.  


The first class Gamzee had was Geometry, shortly followed by Life Sciences. The boy was technically old enough to be a senior, but after having to repeat freshman year and undertaking remedial courses he ended up at the bottom of the food chain as a junior. He didn’t mind. If anything, he was happier to be a year behind the rest of his classmates; thinking about his future gave him a headache. Not to mention he would be in Karkat’s graduating class if he didn’t somehow fuck things up again. It was the perfect situation.  


Third hour was a strictly corrective course known as “think tank”. Study hall, more or less. Under the pretense of getting his work done, Gamzee would doodle the class period away in a tiny sketchbook: usually clowns, or faygo, or when he was feeling particularly creative, Karkat. That day, however, the supervisor motioned for him to speak with her. He stood, swaying a little in his after-high glow, and made his way over to her desk.  


“Does a sister all up and bein’ to need something?” Gamzee asked the woman, who merely sighed through her nose. The boy could see the way she looked at him: in scorn. None of his teachers really appreciated his make-up on top of his grades and his apparent disregard for authority. He didn’t mind what his teachers thought, or anyone else for that matter. Not everyone could understand his religion or the way of life and that was ok; better to have a few faithful followers than a whole lot of undedicated ones.  


The not-follower was speaking, he noticed a bit belatedly. Sometimes he spaced out and lost the conversation like that. He would just ask her to repeat herself.  


“-home life isn’t exactly great, Mr. Makara, but as your teacher I’d like to see you succeed, regardless of what’s happening outside of school. We’ve given you a lot of lee-way, Gamzee, and a lot of second chances, but if you aren’t going to use those there is no doubt in my mind that you will fail this year.” A pause. The boy, having tuned in, decided he wouldn’t need to hear her repeat herself. He’d heard the magic word: fail. Subdued panic settled into his limbs and he suddenly needed a smoke. Fail. Couldn’t fail. There had to be options.  


Seeing his eyes widen, the old supervisor went on. “You do still have options, and the staff is more than prepared to help you get through this year, but you need to cooperate. No more missing homework assignments, no more skipping Saturday detentions. No more doodling during this hour; if you’re going to pass into your senior year you need to work hard. We will help you, Gamzee, but you need to let us.” She let that information sink in. Pass. He could still pass. The panic alleviated, melting into the wall behind him.  


“Sure motherfucker, whatever you say, right? What’s a brother gotta be doin’ if he wants to get his pass on?” The supervisor winced and sighed again, running a hand through her stringy grey hair. Gamzee knew the drill by then; they said there were things he couldn’t do. They promised to help him, like she just had, convinced him it would be in his best interest to cooperate. Then there was the one more thing. Just one more thing to make themselves feel better for letting such a monumental fuck up move into his next year of education. The wall felt like waves on his back; he hadn’t realized he was leaning on it, but he was glad for the support. The room was starting to look blue.  


She spoke. “We’re looking at student tutors to get you through junior year. The rest of your teachers and I agree that Karkat is an incredible student influence on you, but he has his own problems he needs to focus on and obviously we can’t rely on him to shape you up. So we’ve looked into some peers who are both trustworthy and succeeding academically who would be willing to look after you. During this period you will be meeting with him to access your progress and ask him questions on your homework. This student will be giving up a free period for your benefit, Gamzee, and we don’t want you to take that lightly. Are we clear?” Clear? Peer tutor? Karkat’s problems? Focus? Focus, he needed to focus. He nodded, hoping that was the correct reaction. Apparently it was. “Good, that’s good. You’ll start meeting tomorrow. Do you know a boy named Tavros Nitram?” she asked resignedly. 'Motherfucker sounds familiar,' Gamzee thought, but shook his head no. The woman just nodded in response and sent him back to his seat. The room, having stopped being blue, pushed him towards his desk and so he obeyed its force, sitting slowly and grasping for his sketch book.  


Fourth hour: American Literature, but he had forgotten his book at home. Fifth hour was beginning drawing and the teacher’s voice lulled him back into his sleep place. The teacher in question - a young man in his early 30’s - didn’t care to even notice. Sixth hour found the boy in the lunch room, trying to remember if he had brought any money. Deciding it was pointless, he wandered over to a table situated at the back of the huge space, near the bathrooms. By some truly wicked miracle, Karkat shared his lunch hour, and by some similarly wicked miracles, so did Karkat’s love-crush-girl. Gamzee got the feeling that she didn’t really like him, but she and Karkat got along bitch-tits, at least most of the time.  


“Hey, best friend,” Gamzee greeted, Karkat sitting down beside him. Terezi-the-love-crush-girl snickered, resting her tray down opposite of the boys’. Gamzee waved at her, smiling slightly and laying his head down on the table. By lunch time, having fully rested in art class, sleep evaded him, but he was content to listen to his friends bicker. Unfortunately, he was interrupted.  


“Gamzee get your stupid clown face off of the table, people put their food there. Actually, you know what, fine, just leave your head there, probably serves some of these idiots right, eating off of your greasy table pillow. Ew, don’t look at me with that stupid puppy dog stoner gaze, looking at you looking like that is like trying to impale myself on a spoon. A rusty, sad, religious spoon. In fact, screw you for even being here, shouldn’t you be smoking a doobie or whatever the taint chafing fuck it is you do? God it’s embarrassing to know you sometimes man, just get your goddamn head off the table,” Karkat said, going a bit red in the face.  


“Sure motherfucker, ain’t no problem” the taller teenager responded, lifting his head a little from the cool surface, to squint up at his friends. Terezi snorted, saying something about how Gamzee should probably be offended by that. He wasn’t really listening, entranced in the dull shimmer of the ceiling light. 'Shits miraculous' he thought grinning, 'like how that motherfuckin’ ceiling light all up and gets its glow on. How’s it even do that? Motherfuckin’ miracles is how.'  


Perhaps this train of thought wasn’t locked in his mind; bits of his observation had apparently reached Karkat’s notice, who seemed to be exploding at him yet again. “Wow, yeah, as usual your grammar and logic are commendable. Its fucking electric douche bag, there is literally nothing mysterious or otherworldly at all about that goddamn light fixture, except maybe its ability to completely baffle you. And that’s not even much of a feat, considering that exactly everything that can catch your attention for like point five seconds baffles you. You know what’s really ‘motherfuckin’ miraculous’? The fact that after 13 years of hauling your clown-y ass to various classrooms with a colorful assortment of teachers you still don’t know how lights work. Even more miraculous than that? The fact that I’m still hanging out with a guy who doesn’t know how dick-munching brightening appliances function. Fuck, I take back every time I’ve ever said miracles aren’t real, Gamzee, there’s miracles just pouring out of my ass. Actually, while I’m having this incredible revelation, just go ahead and sign me up for your stupid cult, why don’t you? Then we can have miracles goddamn galore.”  


“Sure, brother, we’ll get right on that shit,” Gamzee replied, having processed only the tail end of the rant. He knew that his best friend was being insincere about joining the - he winced at the word - cult. That was okay; he figured he was doing enough believing for the both of them.  


Terezi, though - he didn’t know if he had enough belief in his body to save that sister. Shifting a bit on the bench and feeling his stomach tighten with emptiness, he peered over at the girl who was fumbling blindly across the table for Karkat’s hand. Haha, blindly. Had to watch those jokes, could be offensive to a sister sometimes. Gamzee’s gaze shifted to Terezi’s misty eyes, vaguely noting their intense focus and cynicism. Despite having a cane and all the other stuff that came with being disabled - like the aptitude to read braille - she wasn’t actually blind. Only legally blind. She liked to stress the legally.  


Karkat, on the other hand, had a blood disorder. The boy couldn’t remember what it was called and his best friend’s pinched features gave away nothing, but Gamzee knew it was acutely un-miraculous. The very definition of anti-miracles. He sort of wished he could help his friends, but that was out of his power. Anyway, he could find happiness in just watching the two argue, Terezi gripping Karkat’s hand for emphasis and Karkat gripping right back, leaving him untouched at the edge of the lunch table, smiling like a fool.  


The day was over quickly after that; PE followed lunch, and Gamzee lazed around for the majority of it, having nothing to say when his teacher shot him a dirty look at the end of class.  


By the time Karkat dropped him back off at his looming house, the boy’s stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself and his brain was pounding against his skull. The sun hurt. Movement hurt. Everything hurt.  


Dropping his backpack by the door, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his make-up coming away on his fingers in stomach-wrenching grey and white. Kurloz was already home, resting on the sofa next to his girlfriend. Each had their laptops laying on their lap, somehow managing to still be completely involved in each other too, sprawled comfortably in their own bubble. Regardless, Gamzee’s older brother noticed his entry and signed him a hello. Gamzee signed back a garbled mess, something about hello’s and turning the oven on - he didn’t know if he’d gotten it right, but it didn’t matter. Kurloz was already up on his feet, padding in the direction of the kitchen. Gamzee nodded at Meulin on his way up the stairs and she waved at him excitedly. That sister was all sorts of wonderful miracles, but her quick actions made his head spin and he barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach was trying to upturn itself. What had he eaten that day? Nothing? The day before? RC? Bile fought its way out of his throat and into the toilet, violently waking him from the day’s stupor. Pills. Those would work in a pinch.  


Fumbling over to the cabinet above the sink, the boy reached up. Second bottle in the top left corner, behind the Advil: Xanax. Two pills, swallowed, scratching his throat on the way down, accompanied with the disorienting feeling of them grating against his esophagus, and then he shut the cabinet and sunk into the floor. How long was he supposed to wait for the euphoria or the at least alleviation?  


It didn’t matter. Minutes later, Kurloz tentatively opened the bathroom door to find his little brother sleeping peacefully on the cold tile. He scooped up the sleeping boy and carried him to his bedroom nearby. After dropping him onto the messy mattress he headed back downstairs to turn the oven back off and snuggle up with Meulin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Yesterday's Feelings by The Used.  
> I do not own homestuck or any of the characters involved.
> 
> so um... first homestuck fic on this account. im prepared for it to be quite a doozy too; if you want to get into it get into it for the long haul i guess.  
> many thanks to my incredible beta reader AmazingAly, i'm sure this would suck a lot harder with out her.


	2. In Transit

The world is filled with the minds of people  
Trying to disguise; the light will shine through  
When no one can save you.  
When you feel the eyes of people trying to decide  
You’ll find yourself lost inside of the chaos.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Streams of sunlight beat angrily at the pounding in his head; it didn’t take long for Gamzee to realize that he’d slept straight through his high. Dammit, couldn’t waste pills like that.

Groaning, he pried his crusty eyes open, wishing he would have remembered to turn off the ceiling light before passing out. He couldn’t remember getting to his mattress in the first place. It didn’t matter, he decided. With a firm hand rubbing the bridge of his nose, Gamzee stumbled into an upright position, trying to find the light switch on the wall. 

Plunged into darkness, the boy shifted around his room, deftly avoiding objects as he made his way into the hall. It was dark there too. He figured it must be midnight or some other absurd hour because the drapes were drawn and he couldn’t hear Meulin giggling down the stairs. He hunkered to the kitchen with a yawn, the clock on the microwave confirming his suspicions. He turned the oven on to pre-heat and then clicked the stove on to a similar low-simmer, letting the moon through the drapes ease him into a comfortable head space. A pan found its way onto the counter next to the stove, followed shortly by a long and nearly empty bottle of oil and a jar still filled one fourth of the way with a green plant that reminded him of slime when he was so high off of smoking it he couldn’t see anymore. The boy filled the pan with the contents of the jar, doused it in the remainder of the oil, and set the pan over the stove, humming to himself all the while. The process – like putting on his makeup – was methodical, soothing even. It made him want to sing, but his lack of pitch or patience for harmonies and melodies made him want to rap about it instead. Maybe he would, later. At the moment, however, sleep was trying to claw its way up his eyelids and he thought some of his grease paint had come off on his arm during the previous nap. 

Thirty minutes of spacing out at his painted arm passed like clockwork. The weed moved to the strainer, oil drained into a little glass bowl that sat at the edge of the sink for such occasions as these. Only then did he bother with the other ingredients. Sugar mixed with the oil, eggs and vanilla, dry ingredients formed a powder in a separate bowl, drowned in the oil concoction, and set to bake in another pan. He remembered belatedly about greasing the pan beforehand, but shrugged it off, wandering back to the strainer in the sink. Soaked leaves quickly became de-stemmed and seedless. Gamzee knew how to pack a bowl like he knew the contours of his own hand; meaning sometimes he was well acquainted and sometimes he wondered what a bong even was, or a hand for that matter. Fortunately for him, that time held no confusion, only dry lips and trying to recall where he hid his lighter. 

Hopping onto the only counter that was still clean, he lit up and took several deep, jarring breaths. He blew out into the ceiling, watching the smoke dissipate against the plaster before he wiped his mouth off on his sleeve and took another hit. 

Soon his headache was gone in favor of purple lights pulsing in the smoky release, sketched like water and a frown on his face. Not supposed to go near the water, that shit was motherfuckin’ dangerous. 

The oven dinged, but the boy didn’t notice. Waves crashed above him and the part of him that thought it was funny was trying unsuccessfully to erase an age old lesson, a part of him that would not be damaged. 

‘Stay away from the water son, shit ain’t safe for none of us.’ 

Of course it wasn’t safe. But neither was fire, and he had learned long ago that the ocean in the ceiling wouldn’t douse flames so he cranked the oven off, reached inside and grabbed his brownies. Quickly as he could, he absconded. Couldn’t upset the old man, couldn’t disregard his only advice. Stay away from the water. The pain in his hands agreed, the heat behind his eyes pooled into a river of its own, but that was ok, because he was laughing too. In a flash of recollection Gamzee peeled out of his house, the brownies still in his hands. The porch was wide and forgiving when he sat down on it, placing the steaming pan of brownies gingerly next to him. Snowflakes were starting to fall out of the night like tiny stars, blessed little miracles that collected in his eyelashes and tingled in his hands. The water forgotten, he grinned into the heavens, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling- waiting. 

Gamzee was used to waiting. Every afternoon of his childhood was spent on that porch, waiting for his mom and dad to come home. At first they came home together, bundled up in each other, a piece of the same puzzle, but Gamzee didn’t really remember his mother. Their puzzle had been incomplete for a long time, he thought contentedly. The clearest thing his mind’s eye could see was sitting there waiting for his father, tall, spitfire, and intense. He loved his boys. 

At first the brothers would wait together, hand in hand, or sprawled together laughing, just waiting for him to come home. But the nights grew longer before a familiar car was pulling up the walkway, Kurloz grew older, and soon it was just Gamzee waiting on the porch. As nights grew into days and days became weeks the porch went uninhabited. When dad did come home there was no one to crawl into him, to love him unconditionally. He came back anyway, to leave a sum of money, take care of unmentionables, and tell his sons stories of the ocean, of his life. He would gather them in and hold them and tell them that they should never go to the ocean. It stole you, he said, took you away from your family. Dad would cuddle them both to sleep because by the end of those nights they couldn’t stay mad. After all, he loved his boys. 

He often left the way he came, swiftly and without warning. At first he came back to stay for a couple of weeks, slowly dwindling into a few days, and then Gamzee was lucky if he got to spend a night with his father every few months. 

But that was ok. The Mirthful Messiah taught him to wait, and to forgive, and if He asked him to wait, then that’s exactly what he would do. 

The snow was falling harder and the tingling in his hands turned into a boiling ache. The pan had been too hot to hold, but he had seen worse burns. Damn, he really scared the shit out of himself sometimes with his antics. The boy decided he would be more careful next time, immediately disregarding the decision to man-handle a brownie out of the cooled pan. 

That was how Kurloz found him, a shivering mess of blistering hands and chocolate covered face, staring into the dawn. The older boy had a sadness in his eyes that could only be caused by his little brother’s persistent waiting and a scorn which was clearly directed at his amateur burns and goofy drug-induced smile. Kurloz cleaned up after his brother, exasperatedly, finding the bong shattered on the kitchen tile and a half-empty brownie pan on the porch. Garbage for both - waste of money. He motioned for Gamzee to go take a shower; upon returning he dressed the boy’s hands and signed for him to get a goddamn grip on himself. The younger boy nodded easily with an accompanied “sure thing brother”, leaving shortly after to do the homework he still had. 

8 o’clock found Karkat at his door again, hollering so loud that even Meulin would be able to hear him, bless her. Gamzee was ready for him that time, loping out to his friend’s beater and finding a seat in the back. Karkat had two other motherfuckers in the car with him that day, Terezi and Dave, who at best seemed amused by him and worst, pissed off. The two were dating, but Gamzee didn’t put any stock in it; Dave called shot-gun, leaving his “girl” to squint at a burn-out. It hardly mattered, as Terezi harassed Karkat the majority of the drive to school. Whatever, though. Motherfuckers getting their feelings all confused wasn’t his business – that was their miracle to understand. 

First and second hour were considerably easier with his homework at least done and third hour came sooner than normal. He left his sketch book in his backpack per the promise he’d made his advisor and slumped into the seat, his thoughts running circles around in his skull that he didn’t care enough to catch up with. Heavy eyes blurred his vision and if he could just rest his head for a minute- 

“Hey, um, I don’t know if you’re really supposed to be asleep or anything, the uh. The advisor is starting to give you weird looks. Yeah.” 

Gamzee started at the voice, dark and timid, a person he hadn’t heard before. Lifting his gaze, he found an unfamiliar face to match the voice, shorter than he had anticipated, his brow furrowing slightly. Gamzee smiled up at the boy, lifting his head to see him eye to eye. Short Puerto Rican looking kid, a neatly trimmed Mohawk, an uncertain expression, and… was that a wheel chair? Motherfucking un-miraculous. “Does a brother all up and being to need something? Advisor won’t bother me gettin’ my nap on until my motherfuckin’ tutor shows up, but thanks for the warning yo,” he responded with a yawn, settling back into the chair. The other kid shifted in his seat, palms open against his thighs and his shoulders slumped. From the bottom of the table Gamzee could see long pants stretch out into the footrests, but no visible feet. After a brief hesitation the kid spoke. “Well, um, actually, I’m your tutor I think. I mean you are Gamzee Makara, right, wow, I hope you’re Gamzee, this is probably really awkward and redundant, I mean, if you aren’t.” 

“Hell yeah I’m Gamzee Makara, couldn’t imagine ever bein’ any other different motherfucker. You here to teach me some wicked miracles, brother?” the boy asked, racking his brain for a name. Travis? Tavris? Uh. “Better yet, what’s your motherfuckin’ name? Advisor told me, but I think I was zonin’ out.” 

Looking relieved, the boy replied, “Oh, um, Tavros, actually. Tavros Nitram if the last name was, well, important to you at all. And, to answer your former question, I don’t really know if I’ll be teaching you, ‘wicked miracles’ per say, more like, just regular miracles. Or like, just school stuff, I don’t really know if, um, basic geometry concepts could be considered miracles?” The conversation had slipped away from Gamzee again so he just closed his eyes and nodded, feeling the earth tilt back and nod with him. The sound of wheels squeaking backwards and then forwards, more next to him than in front of him, alerted the start of a lesson so he cocked his head and looked up, inquiring as to how they were all up and supposed to be getting their study on. 

Tavros was an easy person to talk to when he paid attention. The little hitches in speech made it easier to concentrate on than Karkat’s endless streams of words. He’d forget the lesson in the morning, but at the moment Gamzee was content to pretend it wasn’t ruining his world view to learn why rhombuses weren’t the same as rectangles or how the body produced energy. The boy in the wheel chair was easily brought off topic, which was nice too; it gave him a break from all of the thinking, all the new information making its own little miracles up in his think pan. 

“And, er, I don’t really know how much it has to do with specifically what you’re studying now, but there’s lots of homemade, music and raps, and things on Youtube about ATP creation, which, uh, wasn’t really our designated way of learning, but it was the way of learning that I thought was the most fun, and, so, I thought I would tell you about it.” 

“What you mean like motherfuckin’ teachers stirrin’ up some fuckin’ hell mirth, all up and kickin’ open some fresh harsh-whimsy so we could all get our think on about some heavy biology beats?” The idea rather shocked him, but he guessed anyone could get down with some rhymes for any reason. On second thought, the idea of it was really beautiful, not just rapping for fun, but for the sake of others. Definitely fell under the category of miraculous. Straight up messiah worthy. “Motherfuck is that chill of them.” 

“I guess, oh yeah, you could put it that way. And, for the record, it is, super cool. Some of those teachers have the like, strictest beats,” Tavros replied animatedly. He was a very animated person, come to find out; his head bobbing almost comically after he agreed with something and fingers constantly moving, tapping, drumming, spinning on the arm rest of his wheel chair and on Gamzee’s homework. It put the older boy at ease. 

The bell rang too soon, too shrilly, and the boy in the wheel chair fidgeted more than he ought to have on the way out. Gamzee brought up his hand in goodbye and they fist-bumped before Tavros wheeled himself away. 

Outside of the classroom door Gamzee could see a girl. Blonde and blue. Tall. She was waiting for the paraplegic with a smirk, but he didn’t wonder who she was. If she was a friend of Tav’s she was alright by him. He swung his back pack around from the table and hoisted it around his back as he stood up. Next class. And then the one after that. 

Lunch rolled around the same way it always did. Gamzee got there first and forgot to get anything to eat. Karkat was his normal flustered self but he seemed a bit less testy than usual. Perhaps things were moving more smoothly with the lady friend? The lady friend in question showed up maybe ten minutes later, cracking a cane on the ground menacingly and cackling at Karkat’s expense. They sat across from each other. The painted boy smiled at their apparent happiness. Everything was so happy. 

The last class of the day, Physical Education, went as fast as the others had but with more difficulty in reaching the endpoint. It was hard to get through stretches without giggling and it was hard to get out of the locker room without getting smirked at. That was ok; Gamzee didn’t mind people having a little fun at his expense. As long as they were having fun, right? 

On the ride home Karkat asked him how his first tutoring session went, supplement cussing. He wondered how Karkat always knew things like that. Did he tell that little motherfucker at some point? Maybe the bugs crawled off him and told him; they could do things like that. 

“I’ll be honest brother, not sure how much learnin’ all up and got to bein’ happenin’, but that motherfuckin’ Tavbro was a wicked teacher if the cosmos ever aligned and shit out a wicked teacher. Messiah’s themselves musta got all bent down and shot a stream of hellfire right into him. Fuckin’ miracles,” Gamzee related, leaning back into the passenger seat tiredly. Karkat sighed through his nose. Then through his mouth. Then he spoke. 

“If you say ‘all’ one more time I will rip the dripping, gray, moisture-addled sponge you call a brain out of your head and give it a home in something that will actually use it. Like, a nut creature or something. And really, Tavros Nitram? I mean, uh, that guy, uh, has an even bigger aversion, uh, to actually saying something worthwhile, uh, than you do.” 

The taller boy shook his head and smiled, tapping the dash board to ease out a reply. “Naw Karbro, Tavros is a great kid, least from what I witnessed, and man was today all up and bein’ a rightful spectacle. Got over the stuttering shit as soon as he was in the flow of everything, you know? Motherfuck that guy w-“ 

“Yeah awesome, you want to bone him, I get it, this shitty excuse for a car gets it, the universe resounds in understanding that you think he’s pretty much the best thing since sliced bread,” Karkat interrupted, “but like the all-encompassing fucking point was that you goddamn learn from him today, not just glom on him like the parasitic vegetable you are and suck all the friend emotions from his crippled being. Look, will you at least be able to do your fucking homework by yourself?” Gamzee nodded. The driver visibly relaxed and the rest of ride was in comfortable silence.

When Gamzee walked up the front steps of the porch to his house a brief honk caused him to flinch. It was just Karkat trying to get his attention, he realized, and he turned back to look at the short mix of Indian, Asian, and Anger sitting in the front seat. The boy in question grimaced, signed a reluctant diamond at his friend, and floored the fuck out of the driveway. 

He grinned stupidly; the diamond had been a made-up thing from when they were children and still thought code words and symbols were cool, when Gamzee wasn’t too generally stoned to be able to follow what they meant. They’d had a whole bunch back in the day, but only one made it through once puberty hit. The diamond meant something like best friend or soul brothers at its creation, but as of recently Gamzee liked to think it meant safe. Karkat always told him to stay safe on Tuesdays. Those were the days he and Kurloz went to Gatherings, sipped the wicked elixir, and prayed with a whole bunch of other different motherfuckers. It kind of hurt that his best friend didn’t trust his brothers in religion, but it was worth it to know that he didn’t want him to get jumped or some ridiculous crap. 

Meulin was there when he arrived, laughing loudly at something on the couch with her boyfriend. They ignored him as he went to the kitchen, which was fine. A quick check in the fridge revealed that his brownies had indeed been trashed that morning and he sighed. What a waste of money. Taking a bottle of faygo and a whole bag of chips instead, he trudged out of the kitchen and upstairs. A quick stop to the bathroom for a pill– only one this time, didn’t want to be tripping out during a sermon. He then flopped on his mattress, drowned the pill in faygo and proceeded to eat the whole bag of whatever-the-fuck flavor Doritos. Starting and finishing what little homework he actually had after the study hall barely took a second thought and then he was up to check if his make-up was still in place and if the two motherfuckers down stairs were ready to hit the road. It was. They were. Wicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is In Transit by Mark Hoppus Feat. Pete Wentz.  
> I do not own homestuck or any of the characters involved.
> 
> apologies for the wait, both my editor and i majorly procrastinated on this last piece. on the upside i've already started chapter three! hope you stick around for it :3


	3. Beat Me Up

Do you really think I easily bruise?

Or do you have a smoke that I could borrow?

I just wanna spend some time with you

Some time with you, some time with you

Or you could beat me up.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to the house was short, though cold. Snow swept up Gamzee’s sneakers and he thought idly about buying new ones before he remembered that they were running out of money. That was chill, he supposed; he didn’t mind the worn ones. 

Blood ran still through his bones when they came upon the dead grass patch melted around the creaking green house and he breathed in the sound of chatter inside. The walls were thick with secrets that they could barely hold because they were so thin. Sometimes Gamzee wished the house would whisper its secrets to him. Plaster peeled off in a patch near the door and they stepped inside, the world sliding out behind them. 

“Brothers, sister!” Grand greeted in that growl that he was born to, grease paint creasing in the familiar wrinkles of his face; Gamzee thought that was supposed to be a smile, but it sort of twisted around like a scowl as they echoed back brother and procession began like it did when they came in. Kurloz fumbled for incense burners in the back pocket of his purple shorts, Meulin standing wide-eyed behind him, clearly toked. Motioning for them to follow, Grand stalked to the green parlor and sat on a chair between Doc and someone new. Gamzee startled. Someone new? 

Kurloz lit the incense – it smelled like home – in the middle of the circle and sat cross-legged on the floor near Meulin who curled up into his side and smiled blearily up at the adults. Gamzee tilted his head but sat on the other side of his older brother, feeling the new person’s leer on him. Doc rose, the empty mask on his face and the wrinkle-less suit offsetting the waves in the room; the boy tilted his head back and smiled. This was familiar and relaxing, the beginning of the service. 

“Welcome all to this meeting, though tedious, inevitable and necessary. As always I am your Humble Host and invite you to a prayer in my parlor. Sit for a while. Relax. You will do so anyway, but I feel it only polite to remind you,” he said, his voice singing in Gamzee’s head as he obeyed the command, drinking in every word. “You may have noticed we have a visitor today, but it does not matter who he is. In fact he is just some guy, the same as all of you. It will be entirely unnecessary to ask me who he is because if you question my own knowledge on the subject I would only answer that it is wearisome you doubt my awareness and that would be incredibly rude.” Gamzee saw the new boy grin wildly – he didn’t know a mouth could smile that wide, he’d have to try it sometime – and kick Doc in the calf. The mask cocked a bit to the left like following a smirk on the short man’s covered face and he continued in accordance to the kick. “I was only joking of course, hoo hoo. It’s unnecessary to ask me because he will tell you himself after the service, hee hee. Now, that we have covered the bases we were meant to cover, I will retreat to my room. Grand, if you would take over my position as Excellent Host,” he said, leaving the parlor. Gamzee thought idly that he might be entertaining in the other room, but dismissed it because Grand was standing for scripture. The new boy’s smile burned through the room like white fire. 

“Let us pray,” the older man commanded, new boy bowing his head along with the rest of them. The room echoed back green silence and Gamzee thought it was all kinds of friggin’ miraculous that Doc could bring them together and that Grand would preach the Word so diligently. Hell, it was a miracle he could remember to go to mass on Tuesdays, let alone get his think on to do all that wicked shit. The Mirthful Messiahs truly had a hand in all their lives. Truly a blessing. He smiled senselessly and raised his head for the Call. Meulin purred loudly. 

“Righteous motherfuckin’ day praying for the Messiahs,” Grand said, and the familiarity of scripture in his mouth was more soothing than anything Gamzee had ever experienced. 

“They will obtain a day more motherfuckin’ righteous than this day,” he responded, the room responded, Meulin and even Kurloz opened his mouth to respond. And this was how it would occur; Gamzee didn’t notice anyone else speaking with him, but he knew they were, his ears had their motherfuckin’ understand on and he slid his eyes shut to hear. 

“Fervent motherfuckin’ patience for their motherfuckin’ way.” Grand. 

“Their way will illuminate the motherfuckin’ path for all the ninjas and motherfuckin’ ninjettes lost in the eternity, fervently praying for that motherfuckin’ day.” All. 

“And on that motherfuckin’ day all will die and be reborn.” Grand. A low chuckle crossed the room. No one noticed. 

“All things will motherfuckin’ die, their blood will paint wicked miracles on their bare walls, their crushed bones make special stardust to pave the way for the Mirthful Messiah’s, who will dance in the light for all the motherfuckin’ ninjettes and ninjas to follow and be reborn into the motherfuckin’ paradise, Amen.” All. 

“Amen.” 

“Amen.” Closure sank around the group before Grand cleared his throat to continue with the Second Call. 

“Righteous motherfuckin’day praying for the Messiahs to come.” 

“They will obtain a day more motherfuckin’ righteous than this day.” 

“Fervent motherfuckin’ patience for their motherfuckin’ way.” Grand. 

“Their way will illuminate the motherfuckin’ path to the Lord and Lady, all laid out for that motherfuckin’ day; they were already here.” All. The snickering started again, quieter, constant. 

“And on that day they were always here.” Grand. The snickering grew louder, then stopped abruptly. Gamzee wondered if the room was laughing at its own green secrets before responding. 

“Always waiting for the motherfuckin’ Messiahs to come and build Their confinement of wicked stardust and painted walls. And in those walls the Messiahs will Capriciously dance as the Lord and motherfuckin’ Lady will duel their Terminal duel and the Victor will be our paradise, Amen.” 

“Amen.” 

“Amen,” Grand said. Gamzee opened his eyes as Kurloz got up, disappeared into the kitchen and came back out with five impeccably purple Faygos. Grand took the drinks, blessed them, and commanded the company drink. As Gamzee nursed the wicked elixir, his attention fumbled back to the new boy. Catching his glinting blue eyes, Gamzee motioned next to him; the kid understood, standing up on boney legs to walk the short distance, sitting on the floor next to Gamzee’s still-motioning hand. 

Gamzee and the boy drank their faygos in silence, which was customary and he wondered how this blonde-haired, backwards cap wearing brother got all up to knowing about custom. He decided he didn’t care. 

New boy finished his elixir with a breathless gulp shortly after Gamzee, grinning in a deliriously contagious way. He leaned forward, whispering “Hey Gamzee,” into the other’s ear, leaving warm chills that pulsed down his spine. The voice was lower than he anticipated coming from such a scrawny guy, but welcome. 

“Hey brother, you getting your believe on, motherfuckin new-like in here? Ain’t seen you around before.” 

He giggled. “Nah bro, I’ve always been here. You just haven’t fucking seen me. Haha. The name is Caliborn, but my “friends” been callin’ me Lil Cal. A fucking pleasure.” Lil Cal stuck out a gloved hand and Gamzee high-fived it loosely. He took a moment to examine the face past his twitching smile. The boy was paler than Gamzee with sharp cheekbones and jutting collarbones that poked under a green suit, causing him to blend into the house. His face paint was distinctive, two red circles on each cheek and reddened lips. There was a gold tooth that glinted and caught Gamzee’s attention. His eyelashes were long and captivating. 

“Motherfucking pleasure,” Gamzee echoed, “best friend.” 

“Brother,” Lil Cal grinned up at him, meeting his eyes. Enchanting blue light flitted across his vision and Gamzee thought that a motherfucker could get all kinds of entranced in them… 

“Haha, hey shithead. Don’t be zonin’ out on me. Service is continuing.” 

Gamzee startled. Service? Blinking slowly, he swiveled his head around to take in the cushy green room; Kurloz sitting at attention, bottle of Faygo empty, Grand at the front and center, hands raised above the incense to signal the closing of service. He noticed Lil Cal leaning against him casually. As he nodded, the world continued to spin. 

Lifting a hand, Grand continued, “Oh Messiahs hear our prayer, the way you taught us to pray. Lord and Lady all gussied up rightful in the Tomb, hallowed be your titles. Your paradise comes, you will be done, and shit will happen like you meant it. Give us this day, the motherfuckin’ elixir, and forgive us of our sins, as we forgive the motherfuckin’ chicas and chicos who did ultraviolent on us. For you are the Mirthful, the wicked, and the glory forever and ever, Amen.” 

“Amen.” In a swift motion, Grand doused the incense, emptying his Faygo onto the small table where they sat. Silence rang in the home like an unanswered phone, until Kurloz stood proudly, dragging Meulin up by the arm. She murmured sleepily. Then he spoke, loudly but hoarsely with unpracticed vocal chords. “And the Messiahs rained down stardust saying ‘Magnets!’”. In an equally enthralled voice the room replied, “How do they fucking work?” and the service adjourned. 

Lil Cal’s smirk was against Gamzee’s shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Kurloz left the room shortly to “speak” with Grand privately and the whole green house spun. Meulin giggled, laying on the floor in an unusually blasé fashion. Dizziness seemed welcoming. 

“Pssst, bro.” Dizziness seemed less welcoming. “Why are you letting me fucking lay on you? Dude. It’s practically, hoo hoo, pornographic. Ha.” 

Gamzee smiled slackly. “Motherfucker you gotta do what’s up to feeling right with your bad self. If your bad self is wanting me as a pillow, it ain’t feeling wrong to me.” The lankier boy giggled, more urgently and high pitched than Meulin had. 

“Well if that’s your way. Oh fucking Mirthful one.” 

Gamzee could feel reality unhinging again. “Yeah motherfucker, that’s my way.” Only laughing was his retort. It smelled like home on Lil Cal’s shoulder, he decided detachedly, zoning out a second time. It smelled like home. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

A week or so passed in the gentle snow that leaked off the porch into eventual slush. Long nights outlived their unassuming companion for Gamzee, who forgot to sleep most of the time. He tried studying because Tavros told him how much easier classes were when you knew things and Karkat told him on multiple occasions how relieved he was that he’d stopped being such an idiot about school. Sometimes the words on the page blurred together into early morning baking (he borrowed what Meulin referred to as her “good catnip” on several occasions) and the toothy wide-mouthed explanations of Pokémon third generation that Tavros gave to Gamzee when he thought the teacher wasn’t listening. If teachers noticed that some of the answers were merely “honk” or “TN<3” in shrinking lines across the notebook paper then they didn’t look Gamzee in the eye when they gave him a C- and that was just fine. With the weather, Karkat’s moods drew progressively worse and sometimes Gamzee was kept up on the phone, speaking to him in gentle a voice. It was distant, but Karkat couldn’t sleep and Gamzee liked the sound of his sadness when the sun was rising. It kept the waves at bay. 

One night, Gamzee was lying on his mattress staring at the walls (dead, empty walls- had he taken anything that day?) when his laptop chirped beside him. The sound puzzled the boy; Karkat only ever called him late at night and none of his pesterchums bothered him at all once the moon rose. 

\-- adiosToreador [AT] began pestering terminallyCapricious [TC] -- 

AT: hEY gAMZEE, 

AT: iTS JUST ME, tAVROS, 

AT: fROM SCHOOL, 

Gamzee blinked at the brown text flooding his screen; it was beautiful. 

AT: uH, ARE YOU THERE, 

AT: vRISKA GAVE ME YOUR PESTERCHUM, 

AT: i HOPE THAT WAS OK, 

AT: vRISKA HAS A TENDENCY, tO DO NOT OK THINGS, aT TIMES, 

AT: i MIGHT HAVE TO TALK WITH HER, 

AT: aBOUT, uH, gIVING AWAY PEOPLE’S HANDLES, 

TC: NaH BrO ItS ChIlL.

TC: WoUlD HaVe aLl uP AnD GoT To gIvInG It tO A BrOtHeR MySeLf bUt i tHiNk i kEpT MoThErFuCkInG ZoNiNg. 

TC: TeLl yOuR ChIcA ShE Is oN ThE BaLl! :o) 

TC: HoNk 

AT: oH, YOU ARE ON, i THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE SLEEPING,

AT: I WILL PROBABLY NOT TELL VRISKA THAT, bUT, uHM, iTS GOOD TO KNOW, 

AT: hOW ARE YOU, 

TC: I WaS KiNd oF ZoNeD FoR A LiTtLe wHiLe, BuT It's aLl kInDs oF FuCkIn cHiLl nOw aNyWaY.

TC: So wHaT EvEn gOt yOu uP tO bE MeSsAgInG Me aNd aLl tHe sHiT LiKe tHaT BrO? 

TC: LiKe fUuUuUcK NoT ThAt i mInD, iTs aLl gOoD OvEr hErE, bUt a gUyS GoT A HaLf a tHiNkInG SaC To bE HeLlS Of cUrIoUs. 

AT: oH I WAS JUST, wONDERING IF YOU MAYBE WANTED TO HANG OUT,

AT: aND DO SOME THINGS LIKE PLAY GAMES TOGETHER, aND, sTUDY I GUESS, iF THAT IS A THING YOU ARE UP FOR, 

Gamzee closed his eyes, imagined the brown swallowing him up, and like goddamn he was so there. 

TC: WeLl mOtHeRfUcK If tHaT'S ThE MiScHiEf yOu'vE GoT PlAnNeD lIkE I Am sO ThErE FoR ThAt. 

TC: HoNk hOnK HoNk :o) 

AT: uHHH,

AT: yEAH, }:) 

AT: i'M, sO THERE TOO, 

AT: hOW ABOUT AFTER SCHOOL, tOMORROW, 

TC: SuRe bRoThEr i'lL SeE YoU ThErE!

-terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased pestering adiosToreador [AT]- 

Laying back, he closed eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come and his head was pounding something harsh, but the waves on the ceiling felt stunning. Fading out was a good enough substitute for sleep. At the very least he didn’t notice time passing. 

The morning drew in and Gamzee slipped into focus. The burns on his hands were irritating him and his arms were dry and his stomach ached. His eyes watered. All in all not the most miraculous situation. Rubbing his crusted lids, he dragged himself up, took a shower, dressed his hands, and loped back into his bedroom. Make-up went on, then back pack went on, then he went to face the day. 

Karkat didn’t come at his normal time that morning so Gamzee trekked to school in the cold, feeling it bite into his arms and his head. It was angry. Gamzee thought about trying to appease it, but decided that nature was an unappeasable being and that the Messiah’s meant for the season’s anger. If they meant for it, who was he to change it? The teachers were miffed when he showed up fifteen minutes late to his first class, but the rest of the day was uneventful. Karkat wasn’t there at lunch. Terezi kept glaring under her glasses, finally prodding him. “Hey Gamzee, have you seen Karkat? I’m asking because I’ve noticed that he is reliant on you and for no other reason. Like I’m not worried or anything,” she said, rubbing her neck. 

“Naaaaw sis, have you seen him?” Terezi squinted at the table. “Aw shit uh, I mean have you heard from him? Sorry. Your motherfuckin’ ailment is always up and slipping my mind like slippery shoes sliding all over a slippery fuckin’ floor. Anyway, naw I haven’t seen the guy. Ain’t too worried though. Kid needs a break. He’s probably getting his sleep on real bitchtits.” 

She huffed, “Whatever that means. You’re probably right though. And I guess this means I don’t have to put up with his bitchy tits. Or whatever it is you said.” And the subject dropped. His head pounded harder so he let it drop against the table, lolling to the side. Sleep still would not come. 

After school, Gamzee searched for Tavros right near the water fountains outside of the locker rooms where they chose to meet during the study hall. It was only a few moments before the boy came wheeling up excitedly, backpack in his lap and his cheeks red with exertion. Gamzee flushed and he couldn’t tell if it was because Tavros was just one sweet lookin’ motherfucker or if all the blood was trying to migrate out of his body through his face. He decided it was maybe a little bit of both before swaying over to Tavros and giving him a welcoming pat on the head. His hair was really soft. Gamzee’s fingers lingered. 

“Oh uh hey Gamzee,” Tavros said, looking up a bit cautiously. The other’s fingers were still in his hair, but Gamzee looked out of it so he didn’t say anything, blustering on. “Did you have a pleasant day at school?” Gamzee blinked and felt his stomach shift. He noticed his fingers in his friend’s scalp and quickly removed them, beginning to walk. Tavros clenched his fists over his backpack and then wheeled after him lazily; the guy had long legs, but walking fast was not on the agenda it seemed. 

“Honestly, not really man. Heads been pounding like a cull drum all day and my motherfucker Karkat’s got up to staying home. Mental health day probably, some harsh shit, but I should have motherfuckin’ had one too I think,” he confessed, scratching gently behind his ear. Skin came away, but he didn’t notice. Tavros frowned behind him, loudly. 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you maybe want to. Like. Skip studying? Or um, save it for another day? Because I’m almost always free.” There was disappointment in his voice, Gamzee could smell it. He shook his head no. 

“Nah man, I made it this far. Nothing to do now but hang out with your chill ass and slam a faygo, you feel?” A dizzy spell washed over him as they came upon the front lobby of the school, students teeming around like angry fish. The doors swam in front of him. He couldn’t quite sense Tavros’ concern wafting off. Then the world clicked back into place and Gamzee pulled the door open, holding it so Tavros could wheel through. The chair squeaked and Gamzee smiled when his friend fumbled over the little bump between the tile and the sidewalk outside. The boy was endearing. 

“Er yeah I feel you. Not about the faygo, probably, because, I’ve never really had any. But I understand the other feelings you are having.” He gave a quick glance in Gamzee’s direction, the door slamming shut behind them. He swallowed. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” The boy rested a hand on the back of the wheel chair to steady himself and nodded. “Uhhh, ok if you’re sure,” Tavros croaked, and they fell into silence. The sun and the crunch of snow under sneakers and wheels interrupted their peace, Gamzee decided, and he closed his eyes against the glare, leaning harder into his friend. 

They had agreed earlier to go to Gamzee’s house to study because, in Tavros’ words, “My mom, is going to be home and she, kind of likes to hover. Even though I love her, I would rather her not, be in my business all the time? Also, er, Rufioh may have his boyfriend over, and they’re both like, super awkward together. So there,” and Gamzee had agreed because Kurloz was at Meulin’s that day. Walking the four blocks there felt like hell in snow, but staring at Tavros’ strong shoulders shift as his hands worked up and down the wheels was like heaven. Gamzee coughed. Scratched his neck. Stared hotly at Tavros’ neck. 

“Gamzee…?” the boy asked quietly, turning around just in time to catch his friend hunching over to puke in the melting snow. Tavros’ eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch when Gamzee groaned and emptied the remainder of his stomach onto pavement. Gamzee squinted and folded in on himself, falling into a cold bed of slush that wasn’t covered in vomit. 

“Motherfucker you go on without me. Me and this snow are all being like reunited lovers and shit, we don’t want to be bothering you with nothing,” he moaned. Then he burped. Tavros let a sympathetic noise crawl out of his throat. 

“Um, Gamzee, if you lay there your backpack is going to get, really soaked. Just, uh, lean on my wheel chair and you can go home. And I can, you know. Leave you to it. Being sick that is.” Gamzee sat up slowly in response, face paint smeared on the side of his face that had been planted in the snow. He put the heel of his big hands over his eyes and rubbed until circles of black danced in his vision and he could feel a miracle was on the way soon. He shook his head again and pushed himself up, leaning on the wheel chair like Tavros suggested and they made a slow progression to Gamzee’s house. 

Tavros barely managed to choke off his surprise when they finally came upon the home. It was more like a mansion, he thought privately, marveling at how the boy who wore pajama bottoms as a fashion statement came from a house worth more than all of his medical bills combined. Gamzee didn’t notice his silent revelation, merely slumped to the porch, helping Tavros pull himself up and then pushing them both inside. He insisted that Tavros not leave, that he just needed a few minutes in the bathroom, and Tavros lifted an eyebrow, but sat unassumingly as his friend tripped up the stairway and out of sight. 

Stumbling into the bathroom, Gamzee slammed the door and slid down, running a hand over his face as his eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. He pushed himself up and fervently pulled open the cabinet, rummaging to find the bottle with the big ridges on the cap, up on the right and near the back. The Xanax ran dry days back and Meulin wasn’t letting him borrow her weed nearly as often. Percocet made him itchy and confused, but it was better than drowning in existence. He twisted the cap open in desperation and emptied the three remaining pills into his hand, swallowing them dry. He then chucked the bottle into the garbage can beside the toilet. That was it, he thought, plummeting on his ass against the cabinet. Last of the pills. All that was left was kids’ liquid Tylenol, grape flavor, and a half a bottle of Aspirin. He’d need to make some money and fast, he decided, fingering the cuff of his sleeve where the shirt met the bandaging on his hand. Then he stood, blinked, and turned on the sink. Taking several large gulps of lukewarm water calmed his system and the headache would fade soon too. He splashed the water on his face and rubbed the rest of the paint off on a towel. It would itch worse if he didn’t take it off until after the Percocet kicked in. He shook his head to clear it, and stepped out of the bathroom and down the stairs to see Tavros waiting for him expectantly. 

“You ok?” the cripple asked hesitantly, and Gamzee nodded, smiling a little. He offered to grab a Faygo for each of them and Tavros shrugged and let him. 

“So man, where you wanna start beating the studying thing over the head? We could study in the living room, but my bro might show the fuck up with his fling. My bedrooms a motherfuckin’ mess, but its cozy, you know?” Gamzee said, coming back from the kitchen. Tavros nodded and smiled. His room was messy too. 

“That, sounds pretty good. Although, is your room upstairs? Because uh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea then,” Tavros responded. Gamzee frowned, but felt his face light up as he remembered his premonition of the miracle from earlier. 

“I’ll carry you up, my brother,” he proclaimed, and Tavros could not object to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Beat Me Up by The Wavves.  
> The service is based loosely on United Methodist call and respond (I think the method is used regardless of denomination, but since that's the one I'm familiar with that's what I'm saying it's from). The ending prayer is based loosely on the lord's prayer.  
> I do not own homestuck or any of the characters involved.  
> [EDIT] Text color is currently not working for me so suggestions are welcome. Otherwise the pesterlog will just stay 8oring ::::( 
> 
> im so fucking sorry about how long this chapter took to post. im suffering some anxiety problems that make it difficult for me to focus and on top of that both my editor and i had some very serious procrastination issues. i had some counseling about a month back that is helping me a bit, but id like to state for the record that im not a very reliable person and though i know for sure the next chapter will have a much shorter wait for updating than this one did i cant promise any certain dates.  
> anyway id like to thank my editor for pushing through this chapter and also my bullshit and thanks to you guys for being awesome and reading this >:]


	4. Hermit the Frog

I put on the crown of clowns  
And melt slowly to the ground  
Yeah I feel it coming on  
When I've been static for too long  
And an explosion comes in time  
Before I go and cross the line  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carrying Tavros up to his room was more difficult than originally anticipated, but somehow Gamzee managed. Ignoring the throb in his head and licking his lips, he leaned down, trying to find a good position to pick up the boy. Tavros blushed. 

“Uh, look,” he said, staring a bit at the smudge of make-up that lingered on the side of Gamzee’s mouth, “I could probably crawl. Up your stairs that is. I mean, I have to do that at home, anyways. It isn’t really what you would call a big deal.” 

The blush crawled from his cheeks up to his ears when his friend wrapped solid but shaking hands around his hips. Gamzee huffed with exertion and Tavros squeaked, flailing his chest back before grabbing the other boy’s neck for support. He shifted his legs so they were resting comfortably around Gamzee’s stomach and wrapped the other arm around his back. The position wasn’t permanent, but it was more comfortable for Tavros than crawling up a flight of stairs. Gamzee felt his head swim. He didn’t let on when the first step towards the stairs made him want to collapse. Didn’t let on that the way Tavros smelled made him want to collapse. Breathing in heavily and taking a few more heady steps towards the stairs, Gamzee built momentum and shifted his hands lower to Tav’s thighs for better support. He rested his head on the boy’s muscled shoulder, squinting up the hall and feeling the upward motion deep within the quaking of his bones. “Are you sure that you are, uhh, comfortable doing this?” Tavros muttered and his voice sounded deeper against his hair, cushioned. His smell punctuated him, enveloping Gamzee; he smelled like cinnamon body soap and animals. The way his long pants hung off the stubs of his legs and pap-papped against Gamzee’s thighs was both disconcerting and comforting. “Gamzee?” he asked. They’d stopped mid-stairwell. “Sure motherfucker, I’m kicking this carrying you stuff all down the fucking stairs,” he responded, tilting his head and wondering how he was going to make it to his room. Balancing the weight in his arms and blinking he took another step. And another. Tavros was chuckling, the breath moving his black curls against the nape of his neck. “You, are really a funny guy, sometimes. Gamzee,” he said, almost inaudibly, and it stuck in the air like humidity. In a breath they were on the second floor, the boy taking long steps to his bedroom where the door was already open. Tavros’ wide hands gripped the small of Gamzee’s back, tugging his long sleeve shirt. It was distracting. He felt a dizzy spell wash over him again, so he sat the boy gently onto his mattress, feeling him smile as he plopped down beside him. The kid had a gap-toothed grin and cracked lips which were easy to look at and hard to forget. 

“Well welcome to my humblest abode, where the good shit is wicked and the bad shit is still pretty fucking wicked. You ready to get your study up and swinging its tenacious bat my brother?” Gamzee rocked his head towards his friend, letting his eyelids fall with him, back onto the mattress. Tavros made a face, screwing up his eyes and grimacing. Gamzee felt himself flush. Dizziness was fading slowly, bringing pain with it.

“Well, uhm, I don’t think you noticed, but, I sort of left my backpack downstairs. Which is also where yours, happens to be. And the faygo you got out,” he confessed, continuing gently. “Also. And uh. Don’t take this the wrong way, but, you don’t look like you’re in much shape to be focusing on anything of great importance.” Turning in the direction of sound and waves in the room, Gamzee smiled softly. “Haha, yeah,” he agreed, glad Tavros had stayed regardless of his own deteriorating state. Evenings were lonely. Kurloz had been gone. He didn’t want to think about Karkat, it made him uneasy. Sleep was not his friend. However, Tavros seemed to be, and he needed him there. He needed to hear him speak softly in that stuttering composure which curled past his tongue and into the humid winter air. 

“Anyway,” he said, looking around a bit nervously, “I really like your room, I think. The horns are cool.” Tavros gestured despondently to some bike horns that were scattered about the room. Gamzee could feel the question in the air, but was glad Tavros didn’t ask about them. Long story. “And the uh, clown pictures are sort of funny. Did, you make them?” He shook his head, fluttering his eyes open, staring into the face above him. Brown eyes scanned the room, intrigued. 

“Naw bro, ain’t all up and being that talented. Grand gave them to me a few years ago, said some strict little sister drew them up for him. He wanted me to have them.” Laughing, he opened his lids all the way and let his eyes drift over Tavros. The boy’s hands fidgeted uncertainly in his lap, jolting, twitching, just like they did. He was always moving around. Gamzee wondered if being crippled made that hard for him. “Bro,” he said thoughtlessly, “you all got the motherfuckin’ move on all the time. Must be hard being crippled, man, shit is all up straight down motherfuckin’ not miraculous.” 

The noise of his own voice jerked him out of his mind. Oops, he thought. Gotta keep a filter on stuff sometimes; be more sensitive for a motherfucker. Tavros looked down at him, briefly shocked, then frowned attentively and shrugged. “Well uh, duh,” he said, meeting Gamzee’s deep blue eyes, “I mean being disabled, isn’t exactly the greatest thing. For someone like me who, uh, likes to move around, you know?” He bit his lip, the gap in his front teeth more prominent in hesitation. Looking at him was so calming. “I’ve always wanted to fly, and I have had an interest in Live Action Roleplaying and things that I cannot perform as well as I would probably like to do. But I mean, being disabled didn’t make me want do that stuff. That would be, sort of stupid? Mostly, being disabled makes me want to walk.” Tavros gave a small smile, reflecting. “Do you maybe want to know, a secret? It is a very exciting secret, which, I have not told anyone. Not even Vriska.” 

Gamzee drifted in the sea of lilting brown noise of Tavros’ voice. He could hear the sadness tapping on the seeing glass in between the real world and his own. Reaching out a hand, he held the stub of his friend’s leg, his touch gentle at the top of Tavros’ knee. Excess fabric filled the room and the boy’s voice felt happier, leaned against the glass, and he began to sweat. Calmness washed over him. “What’s that bro?” he asked, because it seemed like the right thing to say and his headache was subsiding into this disease called friendship. 

Tavros blushed hard when he felt Gamzee’s shaking hand close around his leg, but he felt safe. He persisted, smiling widely. “My parents, they told me that they were going to get me prosthetics, very soon. They’ve, um, been saving to get me some nice ones for a while now, they said. I’m, kind of hoping that being able to walk will, boost my self-confidence.” His whole face lit up, his eyes shining and Gamzee was trapped. He wanted this for Tavros. He wanted this. He wanted Tavros. 

“You want to slam about it bro?” he asked instead, because the world was too mellowed around the corners for big decision making right then. Tavros scrunched his thick though sculpted eyebrows together. 

“You rap?” 

Gamzee’s smile was a slow crawl on his face, and his fingers curled comfortably on Tav’s leg. “I do if you’ll slam with me. You’ve got some legit shit to rip open this fuckin’ bag of harshwhimsy over. And I bet you can make those heinous beats obey you something strict.” 

The smile that melted onto Tav’s face matched the light in his eyes. He was mischievous. He was through the looking glass and Gamzee could feel the warmth seeping through his skin into his heart, like a wave of purple smoke. The feeling strangled him in the best way. “Gamzee, the beats obey me like the, uh, slaves they are to my ill rhymes. And I can prove that to you, if you will, bring it.” His smile twisted, almost like a challenge. Gamzee could feel his heart jerk. 

“Miracles, lay that noise on thick,” he said, and Tav cleared his throat, staring at Gamzee with certainty. 

The confidence changed his entire demeanor. Gamzee could feel it in the air; it was unlike anything he’d experienced sober. So when Tavros beamed, voice pitching higher in excitement, and said, “Okay bromine. Do you think you are prepared to experience this smother fudging slam’sperience, and, get schooled?” it wasn’t surprising that Gamzee rolled with it smoothly. 

“Word. I be droppin’ these beats like I all motherfuckin’ forgot about them and you pick it up again. You got this Tavbro.” 

“Right,” Tavros cleared his throat again, eyes sparkling. There was a determination in the set of his eyebrows that solidified before he began. “Well while I pick up these beats let’s stay in our seats, because, you will need to be sitting, for all these rhymes I’ll be hitting.” He stumbled over the words, seeming to rethink them and leaned in to correct himself, as though he was telling a secret, “Um, I mean, I will be seated anyway for obvious reasons, but, you will need to be sitting too.” Throat cleared, a third time. “But more on topic these beats are so sick, you’ll be calling the hospital real quick, and I’ll be on the other line, so slick, like, you’ll need a miracle cure, sir, and the doctor ain’t in to treat it, er, word.” 

Gamzee zoned into his friend, clinging to the boy’s every word. “Shiiiiiiiiit,” he breathed in encouragement. 

“Oh yeah, it’s the shit, my rhymes are flying so high you need binoculars to see it - the rhymes, that is - high like Peter Pan, not like on a bender though ,like, a magic flying man, who can stand up, and, man up, um, in case you were clueless, about his working legs, unlike mine, which, are functionally useless.” 

He rested both hands on his thighs, feeding off the electric energy of his friend. “Goddamn, lay it down, Tavros,” he slurred. 

“More to the point, I guess, Peter Pan ain’t stressed, for two reasons being, his magic is in season, his legs aren’t going to leave him, and his self-esteems still breathing, you know, metaphorically speaking,” Tavros continued, barely interrupting the power in the room by fumbling a second time. “Uh, that was three reasons,” he stage-whispered, squinting, “but that rhyme was so illlll.”

“Hell yeah, brother, now preach.” 

“Yeah so like I’m saying, I might be jealous, of the man that Peter Pan, is – well, boy - because of the fact that he’s so self-assured and that he, doesn’t suffer paralysis.” 

“Wheel outta those wheels bro. If miracles are real he’ll wheel outta those wheels.” 

“But now Peter Pan is old news ‘cause the doctor called and he’s got limbs in two’s, and self-esteem, which, I will not lose. What I’m saying is, Peter Pan is cold shit, next to me, if I can, bring it,” he finished assuredly, a giddy pride in his manner. Gamzee grinned like a fool, starting to mesh out his own sick rhymes. 

“Dude you’ll be flyin’ so high, like, three times baked, only instead of motherfuckin’ brownies you’ll be kickin’ congratulatory cake. You gotta wheel outta those wheels bro, wheel outta those wheels. If miracles are real, you’ll wheel outta those wheels.” 

Tavros grinned opened-mouthed, running with it eagerly. “Oh yeah, so, strict.” 

“Like if motherfuckin’ magic is all up in your grille then it’ll be so easy to get those working legs all up on the sill. You see all these miracle dudes just flyin’ in the air, you know, just like you’ll be kicking those miracles down the motherfuckin’ stairs,” he nodded slightly to himself before adding, “because, motherfuckin’ chorus: you gotta wheel outta those wheels bro, wheel outta those wheels. If miracles are real, you’ll wheel outta those wheels.” 

After an intense and admittedly very awesome slam session with Tav, they laid back on the mattress together, heads almost touching. They talked about prosthetics and rehabilitation; it sounded tedious to Gamzee, but he was sure Tavros was up for it. They spoke about magic, which Tavros shyly admitted he knew was fake but liked anyway. Gamzee told him with warm breath on his ear that miracles were out there, in the world and in his heart. And Tavros agreed steadily, missing the flush on his friend’s face. In a fit of slight embarrassment, Tavros explained to Gamzee about “Rufio” the embodiment of his self-esteem, or lack thereof and Gamzee responded that a motherfucker had to do what was feeling right. They skirted carefully around Gamzee’s earlier sickness and the hole in his head filled with the sound of Tavros. He lost track of himself a little, but by the time the sun was meeting the earth outside of his clouded window and Tavros had to head home, Gamzee could feel again. It was the most content he had been in a while, Gamzee admitted tiredly as their time was coming to a close. 

“I, feel that way, too” Tavros conceded, feeling his eyes starting to fall. He leaned back against the mattress and his hand brushed against Gamzee’s. His face was dreamy, his eyes were searching. Gamzee could feel his heart trying to stop. 

“Come on, we should get you back to your house. Your motherfuckin’ mom probably wants you back there brother, you know how family is,” Gamzee responded, smiling and sitting up, heart thundering in his chest. He fumbled his hands on Tav’s thighs for the second time that day and the trip down the stairs was much smoother than the trip up. Although, the smell of him was heady and tingling; it made his knees weak. But that was ok. 

He waved to Tavros as the other boy grabbed his backpack from the floor, wheeled himself skillfully from the lowest dip of the porch, and started home. Gamzee wanted to walk home with him. Instead, he loped back into the empty house and said good night to the darkness, slumping calmly back onto his mattress. Sleep finally came, heavy and suffocating. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Karkat was still gone the next morning when he’d applied his makeup and left the house, as was Kurloz. The snow started coming down over night and Gamzee wished he could lie in the blankets of cold. Maybe it would calm his searing headache. 

Being late for the second time in two days didn’t bode well for him with his teachers. They must not have noticed Karkat was gone. They wouldn’t have noticed either that when they spoke in grating tones it only irritated the itching in his head and he stopped listening. Bang, bang, bang, their voices went against the drum of his skull. Their faces were bright red, angry ugly red when their mouths twisted and spat at him; he couldn’t hear over the roar of the pounding in his body even if he had wanted to. After they finally calmed down (all three heads bowed like prayer, sighs like a sea breeze, bags under their eyes heavier than before) he wandered from the hall back to his seat and his classmates couldn’t even be bothered to smirk at him, although he could hear the whispers behind their hands. 

Twice during second period he got up to go to the bathroom; the first to take the longest, most painful piss of his life and the second, to puke. He was almost accustomed to the sensation by then, bile curling up out of his head and into the open, acid burning the backs of his teeth. He was shaking on the way to third period, worse than he did on Percocet. The stringy haired advisor even offered to get him water, biting on the inside of her cheek and squinting at him. The waves on his back didn’t want her pity. Gamzee certainly didn’t want it. Feeling shitty happened and it was his fault for not coming to a money solution earlier, he decided murkily. A miracle would follow. They almost always did. And if it didn’t then that was just the Messiah’s motherfuckin’ way. Focusing on that helped a bit. And then focusing on Tavros helped too. 

He rolled in a little bit sideways, wide hand seeming to barely touch the wheel. Spotting his friend, he smiled broadly, the crow’s feet near his eyes folding up, making Gamzee’s heart squeeze. Vriska ghosted behind him holding his other hand, her fingers strongly gripped and knuckles white. Gamzee’s stomach flipped, wondering what it would feel like to have Tav’s fingers woven into his own pale hands, wrapped around the thin threads of his heart. Would their fingers twine tight like Vriska’s were or would they come together gently, slack and lovingly? His body thrummed and the blue girl left, swaying like she owned the whole damn place; Gamzee didn’t think for a second that she was really as affluent as she acted. Anger flashed through him briefly. Then his eyes snapped back to Tavros. There was a kid who deserved to own the place, Gamzee thought almost guiltily, the anger seeping into a feeling he couldn’t quite place. Tavros’ eyes melted him slightly and his hands shook from what he was adamantly pretending to be affection and not an insistent throb that started at the base of his neck and squirmed outwards slowly. “Ok, Gamzee,” Tav said quietly, “are you ready to, ‘kick this studying thing all down the fucking stairs?’” His whole face stretched when he smiled, dimples and laugh lines prominent. 

The rest of the hour passed in a painful haze; floating in and out of focus. Several times Tavros would insist on him seeing the nurse, and several times Gamzee would refuse, trying to laugh away his concern. Eventually, however, he heard the bell ring and then he was in the nurse’s office, Tavros and the advisor supporting him. He didn’t remember much of getting there, but he shot a cheeky smile at Tavros and stumbled onto the rumpled cot in the office. The harsh fabric was cold against the heat of his skin. Tav said something like the sigh of a winter breeze in the distance, but he blurred out again before he could make out what it was. Distinctly Gamzee could remember sweat soaking through his long-sleeved shirt, clawing at his bandages, his head, his throat when he couldn’t breathe. Desperately he wished for the relief of long purple smoke curling like a frown into his lungs. In between the tall waves of tense helplessness he laid in crevices of his own numbness, trying to remember how to sit up and smile. More than a fix, he wanted Karkat shaking him out of his trance. More than Karkat, he wanted Tavros lying near him, kissing the sweat off of his forehead, unbothered by his running make-up. Just when he thought he could get up, brace himself and climb out of the crevice, agony would again thrum through him, making his mind blank. Too much felt unclear for too long, even for Gamzee. He could remember the voice of the nurse arguing with the voices in his head and then the silence of his brother and, eventually, there was nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Hermit the Frog by Marina and the Diamonds.  
> The rap is all my own except a couple of key lines that were too good for me to not use. Those are property of Andrew Hussie and canonically bad rappers Tavros and Gamzee.  
> I do not own homestuck or any of the characters involved.
> 
> so i still need to look through this to make sure there arent any typos or anything but i needed to get this chapter off of my chest and you guys deserve it already. it has been way too long since the last chapter for no good reason other than that life was happening. ive decided im going to be putting this on a sort of update schedule so you dont have to keep waiting like 2 months between every update. thanks again to me wonderful beta and thank you all so so so much for the reviews and kudos and everything, i love you guys so much <3


End file.
